


you put your arms around me (and i'm home)

by newtmazer



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Baz cooks, Did I mention fluff?, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Post-Book: Carry On, Simon is moody (and a sneaky lil shit), Watford references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5252018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtmazer/pseuds/newtmazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It shouldn't be possible, feeling like this just by seeing that wild-haired, bright-eyed boy leaning back in his chair, wearing a worn, pale grey t-shirt with fresh bolognese stains on the front, looking at Baz like there wasn't a worry in the world, smiling that ridiculous, crooked smile of his that still made Baz's heart race.</p>
<p>But he was damned if that very sight wasn't all that he had ever wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you put your arms around me (and i'm home)

*.*.*

”Snow? Bunce?”

The door of the flat clicked shut behind Baz. Silence ringing in his ears, he drew the long, purple scarf from around his neck and shuffled out of his black wool jacket, setting them both hanging from the coat rack next to the door. Baz stepped out of his shoes and clicked the lights on, illuminating the small hallway.

He knew Simon wouldn't be home until hours later, but Baz's classes had ended earlier than usual, and having nothing but time to kill until his daft boyfriend would be unoccupied again, he had decided to make it straight to Simon and Penelope's flat.

Lately, more often that not, Baz had found himself referring to their apartment as his own home as well. Simon and Penny had lived there for about four months now, and Baz had been an almost daily presence there for that entire time. He still had his own (well, technically speaking, it was still Fiona's) place a half-an-hour drive away, but..well. It was small; it was a bit smelly; it was full of Fiona's punk stuff...And there was no Simon there.

Simon didn't like Fiona's flat, either. Baz had coaxed him to stay the night there a couple of times, but Baz could tell Simon didn't feel at ease there. (One of the reasons might be the fact that one time Baz had managed to lure Simon in there one Friday afternoon, they had just been engaged in a rather heated snogging session that was about to turn into something really promising when suddenly Fiona kicked the front door in and rushed inside, the giddy shout of ”Surprise, Pitch!” dying on her lips as her jaw dropped and her eyes took in the half-naked tangle of two boys on the couch directly across the room. Snow didn't agree to go there for _weeks_ after the incident.)

Baz made his way to the kitchen, which was just around the corner, and tucked his hands into his pockets. His foot suddenly nudged something soft on the floor, and his steps halted. He lowered his gaze to the floor, frowning.

There was a red, woolly glove in his feet, and Baz crouched down to pick it up.

It was Simon's glove, one of the two which he always wore these days since the chilly wind had gotten more and more menacing as the autumn went on. Baz had bought the pair of them for him after Simon had caught a cold a few weeks ago. (The idiot couldn't even dress himself now that he had no Watford gear to guide him.)

_”Why red ones?” Simon had asked, his brow furrowing as he shuffled the soft gloves in his hands._

_”Why, they match your tail and wings,” Baz had said, matter-of-factly. As Simon shoved him in the shoulder with his glove-clad hand, Baz couldn't suppress the small, satisfied grin forming on his lips._

Baz sweeped his fingers gently over the glove before he placed it on the kitchen table. He turned around and - his stomach letting out a low growl - decided to eat a snack, stepping over to the fridge. As his hand closed around the handle, however, his eyes caught a sight of a yellow post-it note stuck to the fridge door.

>   
>  _Hiya, Simon! (and Baz)_
> 
> _I'm going over to Amanda's, gotta finish our boring group project (and finally have that girls' night). I bought groceries before I left. (You're welcome.)_
> 
> _See ya!_
> 
> _(PS. Behave)_  
> 

Baz raised his eyebrows at the last remark of the note and snorted, shaking his head. Amused, he tugged the fridge door open and took a look inside.

_Vegetables, yoghurt, minced meat, cheese, chicken nuggets, milk,..._

In the end, Baz knocked the door closed and leaned his back against it, pouting his lips. In the corner of his eye, he saw a bowl of fruit on the counter next to the fridge. Now satisfied, he snatched an apple to his hand, and took a bite.

Baz tapped his fingers against the counter, raising his eyes to the clock on the wall. 

2:30 PM.

Two hours until Snow would get home.

Staring at the stove opposite the fridge absent-mindedly, wondering how in hell to occupy himself with, an idea formed at the back of Baz's head.

Snow was always ravenous after he got back from uni. And a ravenous Snow was a vicious Snow. It was like his brain flicked on “the snappy dragon” -mode whenever he went four hours without eating. His tail slashed from side to side (Baz didn't think Simon was even aware of his tail anymore most of the time), knocking things over, and an irritated wrinkle appeared between his brows. Hunger didn't always make Simon lash out, but Aleister Crowley, when it did...

There was a 50/50 chance things would get either very pleasant, or very annoying, for Baz.

Today, he didn't feel like taking chances.

Penelope and Simon had settled on a habit to do the cooking either together or in turns. Usually when Baz and Simon were alone and there was no food in the fridge, they would just go out somewhere or order pizza. Simon cooked for him, sometimes, but Baz never returned the favour.

When they were at Simon's, Baz didn't feel like it was his place to cook, it wasn't _his_ kitchen. (Although, honestly, it _was_ his as much as Snow's or Penelope's, if you thought about how much time he spent in there.) And when they were at Baz's, well... Simon surely didn't complain if Baz fetched some freshly baked scones from the bakery across the street or ordered them tuna pizza.

The truth was, Baz was hopeless at kitchen. He couldn't cook. At all. He simply never had had to. Back in Hampshire, they'd had hired cooks to take care of all that, and in Watford, it had been the same.

But considering how much time he had spent observing Simon chopping vegetables, his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the flex of the muscles in his forearms; him kneading a dough of bread rolls, his cheeks flushed from the effort; him stirring a sauce, and then lifting a steaming spoon to his lips and blowing cooling air from between his rounded lips,...

Biting his lip, Baz discarded the apple core to the rubbish bin. Then he started opening and closing the kitchen cupboards determinedly, taking out ingredients and placing them on the counter.

If Snow could do it, so could he, right?

After all, how hard could _cooking_ possibly be?

*.*.*

Simon Snow was in a bad mood.

It had all begun in the very moments he gained consciousness in the morning. His alarm went off mercilessly at 6:30 AM. Laying on his stomach, Simon whined against his pillow which muffled the sound almost inaudible. Having developed quite a skill to control his tail by now, he swished it from under the bed sheets and intended to slap the red pointy end of it against the alarm clock, quieting it down.

As it happened, this time he miscalculated the movement completely and managed to sweep the whole content of the small bedside table into the floor with a crash.

That startled Simon enough to make him leap up from the bed, his wings unfolding and tail swishing around. As he got up, his groggy mind slowly registered the odd emptiness of his surroundings. Turning his head to his right, his eyes scanned up and down the empty side of the bed. Simon growled unhappily.

Baz hadn't stayed the night, and Simon couldn't shake the hollowness that always sneaked its way into his chest when he woke up without Baz right next to him. It was ridiculous how fast he had developed an addiction to falling asleep in Baz's arms, and waking up to find their fingers intertwined, their legs (and his tail) all tangled up together, Baz's cold breath fanning over his skin, his soft, black hair tickling his nose and the deep, oh-so-familiar scent of him flooding his senses and calming his nerves...

Simon shook his head (as if it would be that easy to get Baz out of his head) and sweeped a hand over his face and through his messy hair, sighing. Cursing under his breath, Simon picked up the fallen things from the floor and settled them back on the table.

In the kitchen, the sight of their mostly empty fridge did nothing to ease the grumbling of Simon's stomach. He was always so hungry in the mornings and now it seemed he would have to start the day with a glass of milk and a granola bar he hunted from the back of the cupboard, the last one in its box. Could there possibly be a more saddening breakfast than that?

After he had taken a shower, got dressed and once Penny had spelled his wings and tail invisible, the boy was finally ready to leave for uni. He was just putting on his shoes as suddenly Penny yelled from the kitchen, ”Gloves, Simon!”

Straightening up, Simon tapped his pockets and sure enough, there were no gloves there. Returning to the kitchen, he spotted his red gloves at the end of the kitchen table. Smiling sheepishly at Penny who was sipping her cocoa and eyeing her tablet, Simon snatched the gloves and tucked them into his pocket.

”Thanks, Pen!”

Penny raised her gaze up and was about to open her mouth to answer, but the boy was already out the door.

The cold November wind crept its way under Simon's coat as the boy made his way to the bus stop. Shivering, Simon took the gloves out of his pocket and stopped in his tracks as he realised he was holding only one glove in his cold fingers.

Frowning, the boy tapped his pockets again and went through his bag in panic, but it was all in vain. Simon cursed and turned around, scanning the street behind him, and tried to spot a flash of red on the ground. Glancing at his watch, Simon realised he had no time to track his way back to the apartment and back if he wanted to catch his bus and be at the uni in time.

Groaning, Simon gave up, put on his lonesome glove and tucked his other hand in his pocket, hurrying his steps forward.

_Baz is going to kill me_ , Simon thought darkly in his head.

His day dragged on and on and on, and as the lunch time finally neared, Simon was convinced he'd never been so hungry in all his life. His misery wasn't about to end there, however. His economy lecturer ended up keeping the class in almost half an hour overtime, leading to Simon missing lunch altogether since he had to rush to his next lecture right after he finally got out of the classroom.

Another 90 minutes later, the lunch serving time had ended just ten minutes ago, and the fuming boy had to content himself with a foul-tasting sandwich and a Mint Aero he bought from the vending machine.

And as if all this wasn't enough, Baz had been ignoring his texts for the past two hours, and he had no idea where the boy was or if he would see him at all today. (Sometimes, for example, Baz would turn into this infuriatingly stubborn nerd, who Simon had been familiar with since Watford, and lock himself into Fiona's flat for a whole day to study in peace. This especially happened if Baz had an important exam coming up, since he often complained that Simon was too much of a distraction.) (Simon wasn't entirely sure whether he should take that as a compliment or not.)

As Simon now finally made his way up the stairs to his and Penny's flat, he was reluctantly worried (what if something had happened to Baz? Why else wouldn't he answer his texts? But at the same time, Baz's voice was sneering in his head: _“Don't be ridiculous, Snow,”_ and it made him feel stupid for overthinking like that), ravenously hungry (even more so than usual), and devastated (he had kept up hope that he would run across his missing red glove somehow; maybe it was still in the side of the street somewhere (it hadn't been), or maybe someone had picked it up in the staircase and pinned it to the noticeboard downstairs ( _he_ would have done so if the roles were reversed), but so far, he'd had no luck).

When Simon neared the fourth floor, a distant mix of something burned and something cooked filled his nostrils. Simon's brow furrowed as he finally stopped at the front of his door, fished his keys out of his pocket and twisted the right one in the lock.

The smell hit him full-on as he opened the door to the flat and stepped over the threshold.

“What the hell- Penny?” Simon shouted so as to make his voice heard to the kitchen. Just as the door fell shut behind him, there was a sound of something crashing to the ground with a bang. Simon kicked his shoes off quickly and rushed across the corridor, halting to a stop at the end of it as his eyes registered the scene in front of him, his mouth falling open.

Baz was there, in his and Penny's kitchen, currently leaning over the stove and stirring a bubbling sauce pan. The sink was full of dirty dishes and pans, and the counters were filled with all kinds of kitchen equipment from cutting boards, knives, and cups to flour sacks, spices, and vegetables.

After the initial shock passed, Simon uttered out with a baffled voice, “What are you doing?”

Baz didn't bother to turn around as he kept stirring the sauce and answered, drawling, “Cooking dinner, obviously.”

Simon blinked, having serious trouble to take in the situation at hand. He could feel something warm unfurling in his chest and little by little melting all the anxiety, bitterness and irritation away. Slowly, he unzipped his jacket and shrugged it off, folding it over one of the kitchen chairs and discarded his bag next to it on the floor.

He walked over to Baz, placing his hands on his boyfriend's hips and leaned over his back, taking a look at the sauce. Its color was brownish red, and Simon could spot chunks of vegetables and some black matter here and there. The odour drifting from the pan was delicious and spicy, and now that Simon's nose had got used to the air in the flat, it didn't smell so burned in there, after all.

“Well, this is new. What is it?” Simon murmured as he rested his chin on Baz's shoulder.

Simon could feel Baz leaning back into him ever so slightly as the boy tapped the wooden spoon against the sauce pan and placed it on the counter next to the stove. Then he raised the lid of the boiler fizzing next to the sauce pan, picking up another spoon and swirling it through the spaghetti there.

“Oh, I see! Is it spaghetti bolognese?” Simon asked excitedly. Simon _loved_ pasta dishes.

Baz hummed in acknowledgement and went back to stirring the sauce.

Simon snatched the spoon from Baz's hand and brought it to his lips, blowing cool air on it.

“Hey!” Baz exclaimed, turning around and trying to snatch the spoon back but he was too late; the spoon was already in Simon's mouth.

The taste of the sauce was peculiar. It wasn't quite the traditonal mix of spices, tomatoes and meat you would expect from a bolognese sauce, but rather had some strange tinge to it, one that Simon couldn't quite decipher. Somehow it fit the combination, though, and made Simon hungry for more. Slowly, Simon withdrew the spoon from his mouth, sucking every flavour out of it as he locked eyes with Baz, enjoying the way his action drew those grey eyes to his lips and made Baz's breath hitch ever so slightly.

Simon tightened his hold on Baz's hip with his other hand, a slow smirk working its way to his lips as he flipped his thumb under the hem of the dark green, long-sleeved shirt Baz was wearing, sweeping it over the cool skin there.

Baz couldn't quite suppress the tremor Simon's touch ignited, his eyes darkening.

“Mm, delicious,” Simon commented, slipping the spoon back to the sauce pan. “I didn't know you could cook, Baz.”

As the spoon sloshed against the sauce again, Baz whipped his head to glance at the pan and then looked back at Simon, his eyes narrowing and a frustrated growl escaping his throat, “Crowley, Snow, could you even _try_ not to act like a fucking caveman all the time? Have you _any idea_ how unhygienic-”

“Oh, come on, Baz, are you afraid of my spit now, huh?” Simon chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.

Baz turned back to the stove, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

Simon smiled, pecked the corner of Baz's mouth quickly, and said, “I'll set the table.”

Then Simon stepped away from Baz and headed for the cupboard in the corner, taking out two large plates and glasses. Holding onto them, he walked over to the kitchen table and placed them on it. As he walked back to the counter to fetch the cutlery, Simon spotted another boiler shut with a lid, right next to the sink. He got curious, wondering if there would be some other mysterious cookings Baz had prepared for him.

As it happened, Baz glanced at his right and spotted Simon just as the boy was about to raise the lid of the boiler. Baz's eyes widened, and he quickly shouted, “Don't!”, making Simon freeze in mid-move.

Simon raised his eyebrows in confusion at Baz, but the smell drifting from inside the boiler got the better of him, and so Simon moved the lid away further, revealing the contents.

A mess of black and brown chunks that distantly resembled spaghetti lay in the bottom of the boiler, the acrid stench of burnt food making Simon grimace. Baz was next to him in a second, snatching the lid from Simon's grip and slamming it back to hide the hideously ruined pasta.

Simon blinked, baffled, taking in Baz's flushed cheeks and averting eyes.

“Baz, did you burn-”

“Oh, shut up, Snow, I don't-”

Simon could feel amusement bubbling inside him, and then he couldn't hold it in anymore. A burst of laughter escaped his lips, drowning out the rest of Baz's sentence.

Baz stared, stunned, as Simon bent in half, holding his stomach and giggling in earnest, and his cheeks turned a darker shade of red.

Simon tried his best to get himself together, leaning heavily onto the counter and trying to swallow his laughter in order to utter out the words, “I can't believe – this is too _funny_ – you burnt _pasta_ -”, and then he lost it again.

Baz's eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms in irritation, his voice icy as he grunted through gritted teeth, “This is the last bloody time I'll ever cook anything for you, you git.” With that, he turned his back to Simon and returned to the stove.

Eventually, Simon's laughter died out and the boy straightened up, drawing in large gulps of air and schooling his features. Slowly he padded next to Baz, running his fingers over the boy's back lightly, sensing the rigidness of the muscles there.

“Hey, I'm sorry I laughed. It's just-” Simon began, shaking his head a little, smile tugging at his lips, “I guess I've so very rarely seen the great and terrible Baz doing something as mundane as scorching food, 's all.”

Baz flashed him a dirty side-eyed glance, not saying a word.

“I do appreciate the gesture, Baz,” Simon assured, placing his hand on the small of Baz's back.

Baz glanced at him, still looking slightly pissed off, but Simon could see his grey eyes losing their ice at Simon's words.

“Yeah, yeah,” Baz muttered, bumping Simon gently with his elbow. “Get your plate, dinner's ready.”

A broad smile lightened Simon's face up, and he was just about to rush to the table behind them when his stomach let out an enormous, gurgling grumble, making him freeze.

Baz just snorted in amusement.

“Hungry much, Snow?”

_You bet._

*.*.*

Simon Snow ate like an animal.

Seriously. For nine years, Baz had witnessed Simon's atrocious table manners and his insatiable hunger. 

Back in Watford, Simon used to load his plate so full of roast beef and potatoes that some part of his meal always spread all over the table. And whenever there were fish and chips on the lunch table, Simon would get so many helpings of them Baz would lose count trying to keep up. But the absolute worst case scenario were the cherry scones.

Snow and cherry scones were the most ridiculous, most disgusting combination Baz had ever known. Simon would coat the scones with outrageously huge slobs of butter, which made Baz shudder just thinking about it, stuffing his mouth so full his cheeks resembled those of a chipmunk. Sometimes Simon had even snatched a scone or two into his pockets and sneaked them up to their room, eating them in secret. (Or so he thought.)

After nine years, nothing had changed.

Simon had already wolfed down two full plates of spaghetti bolognese by the time Baz was just finishing up his own meal. They ate mostly in silence since it soon became clear Simon really was too hungry to concentrate on anything else than food now that he had gotten a taste of it.

Baz twirled his fork against the spoon, catching the last bits of spaghetti and meat into one last forkful. Opposite him, Simon sighed in contentment, leaning back into his chair and making it sway on two legs.

“Crowley, that was _so good_ ,” Simon said, raising his arms up, stretching, before folding them at the back of his head, gazing at Baz with those incredibly blue eyes, a lazy, lopsided smile playing on his lips.

Baz's eyes lingered on the patch of Simon's bare stomach that peeked out as the boy's shirt rode up. When he fixed his gaze back on Simon's face, Baz could feel his heart expanding in his chest. It shouldn't be possible, feeling like this just by seeing that wild-haired, bright-eyed boy leaning back in his chair, wearing a worn, pale grey t-shirt with fresh bolognese stains on the front, looking at Baz like there wasn't a worry in the world, smiling that ridiculous, crooked smile of his that still made Baz's heart race.

But he was damned if that very sight wasn't all that he had ever wanted.

“Glad you liked it,” Baz murmured, putting the fork to his mouth and savouring the last bite slowly.

Baz had to admit; the food _was_ pretty good. Though he also had to admit he wouldn't really want to know what Simon would've thought about the version of the sauce which _didn't_ include a heap of **dee-ee-licious** spells. It had been mortifying enough that he had forgotten to get rid of the failure pasta before Simon sniffed it out. (Of bloody course he did. He was always putting his nose where he shouldn't. The idiot.)

So, the cooking hadn't exactly gone according to plan. But he had done it, and Simon was all over the moon about it, so Baz didn't have much reason to complain.

Maybe it would get easier next time. (Crowley, he was in too deep.)

Simon leaned forward, securing the chair back to its four feet and placing his hands flat against the table.

“So, what- wait”, Simon started, freezing mid-sentence, his gaze fixed on something behind Baz. “Is that..my glove?”

Baz blinked at the mix of astonishment and relief mixing in Simon's eyes, reluctantly turning his head to the side and glancing over his left shoulder.

There, on one of the kitchen counters, in the middle of the pile of newspapers and other trash that had littered the kitchen table before Baz had moved them to the side earlier, prior to Simon's arrival, lay a lone, bright red piece of clothing.

Glancing quickly back to Simon (who still had that ridiculous look of wonder plastered in his face), and then back to the pile, Baz leaned over and snatched the glove to his hand.

Simon grinned and his hand shoot forward, ready to reclaim his precious glove. Shaking his head, Baz handed the glove over to Simon, muttering under his breath, “I wonder if the day will ever come when you actually start to take care of your own things.”

Simon rolled his eyes and took the glove with gentle fingers, brushing Baz's own in the process.

Baz stared as Simon slipped the glove on his hand, smiling the happy, boyish smile that Baz remembered from the first day they had met. “I thought I'd lost it,” Simon said in wonder, taking the glove off and placing it on the table next to his plate.

“You better not,” Baz warned, cocking his eyebrow, “You won't get new ones, not from me.”

Simon pouted his lips and leaned forward, his forearms against the table. “Oh, you sure?” he inquired, raising his own eyebrow in return.

Bloody Snow. “Very,” Baz grunted, not giving in.

Silence ensued as their eyes locked, both of them refusing to let their eyes drop. Baz felt his pulse thrumming in his veins as the tension crackled on his skin, but he was damned if he-

Then Simon opened his mouth, licking his bottom lip and sinking his upper teeth ever so slowly against it, biting his lip in a slow, teasing manner, and Baz couldn't help his gaze lowering to track the movement. _Fuck._

“I guess I'll have to make sure I won't ever lose them, then,” Simon said, smiling sweetly.

He sighed contentedly, and then rose up abruptly. Baz startled ever so slightly, his muscles tensing, ready to leap up as well. Simon, however, simply scooped their plates and glasses in his hands, leaning extremely close to Baz but never touching, his scent filling Baz's senses. The boy straightened up and turned around without giving Baz a second glance, declaring over his shoulder in a neutral voice, “I'll help you with the dishes.”

Baz sat there for a moment, utterly baffled, staring at Simon who started to sort out the dishes and pile them up as if it was the most natural thing to do. Baz couldn't believe the idiot was honestly doing this. 

Baz could feel a low growl working its way up his throat, and the boy balled his hands into fists, knuckles popping. 

“The fuck you will.”

Then he did leap up, closing the distance between them in a few strides, and grabbed Simon's shoulder, whirling the boy around and crashing their mouths together.

Simon's yelp muffled against Baz's demanding lips. As Baz pushed his body into Simon's, the boy's lower back slammed against the kitchen counter and his invisible wings unfolded, knocking several cups and bowls down and sending them clattering to the floor. Neither of the boys paid them no attention, however, since Simon was finally kissing Baz back, and suddenly it was all fire and flames between them. Simon grabbed Baz's hips tightly as Baz balled his fists into Simon's shirt, almost tearing the fabric apart.

Baz gave Simon's lower lip the slightest tug with his teeth, eliciting a moan from the boy that sent quivering waves through Baz's whole body. Simon's voicings of pleasure were like a drug to Baz; he just couldn't get enough of them and they always made him want _more_.

Baz drew his lips away from Simon's mouth and started placing kisses along his jaw, reaching his ear and nipping at his earlobe with his blunt teeth, Simon's delicious groans urging him on.

Suddenly Baz felt something curling around his ankle and moving along his calf, making him startle until realisation hit him. Grinning against Simon's neck, Baz eased his hold of Simon and snatched his wand quickly from the waistband of his trousers, mumbling the magic words out loud, his lips against Simon's skin, “ _ **I see you!**_ ”, and tapped Simon's wings and tail with the tip of his wand.

Cracking his eyes open and turning his head slightly away from Simon's neck, Baz watched as Simon's red wings shimmered into existence behind the boy, and a thrilling sense of familiarity washed over him.

Simon groaned, out of frustration now. “Why you insist on making them visible all the time is beyond me,” he whined, his voice sounding already rougher than usual.

Baz placed his wand on the counter and returned his hands to Simon's sides, feeling the rapid movement of Simon's chest and the beating of his heart under his palms.

“Shut up, Snow,” Baz growled as he claimed Simon's mouth again, grinding his hips against Simon's, making the boy gasp and utter curses against his lips. Baz swallowed every word and puff of hot air coming from Simon's mouth, moving his hands to the boy's back and tracing the outlines of his wings.

The truth was, Baz preferred Simon with his wings and tail fully visible. They were a part of him just like his hands or his legs (or his moles), and they made him who he was. (Baz also wasn't too fond of the sudden attacks directed at him by Simon's invisible parts, no matter how much amusement Simon got out of those moments.)

Simon's warm fingers slipped beneath Baz's shirt, leaving hot trails on his cold skin and making Baz's muscles tremble. Suddenly Simon's thumbs sweeped over Baz's nipples, causing him to hiss and dig his nails on the soft skin on Simon's back, making the other boy twitch in return.

“Baz,” Simon breathed, and Baz could sense he was trying to hold back now, his mouth tensing against Baz's and his hands losing their grip on his body.

But Baz wasn't about to let him pull away, and he kept on stealing kisses from Simon's swollen lips. Eventually, though, Simon managed to tear his mouth away again and uttered, “But Penny-”, until Baz pressed on again.

“Won't be here tonight,” Baz finished for Simon, sweeping his tongue over Simon's lower lip, making the other boy gasp.

“You sure?” Simon asked with an unsteady voice, his grip tightening again, now around Baz's hip bone.

“Crowley, Snow,” Baz murmured, moving his fingertips teasingly down Simon's side, “have a little faith.” Reaching the waistband of Simon's jeans, Baz dipped his forefinger under the seam, as far as he could reach.

“Oh, _fuck_!” Simon exclaimed, and the startlement caused his wings flying open again, out of his control, sending another set of dishes crashing to the ground.

Baz chuckled darkly under his breath, flexing his finger slowly inside the front of Simon's trousers (and boxers), tickling the hot, sensitive skin there. He leaned forward, stretching Simon's shirt lower with his other hand and planted his lips on Simon's chest, sucking and licking the warm, freckled, taut skin stretching over his collarbones. As Baz slipped two more fingers under the waistband, pushing them lower, he could feel Simon's knees buckle, and the boy moaned his name urgently.

“Baz, _Baz_ , unless you wanna,” Simon had to pause and swallow, “buy me a whole new set of dishes, I suggest we-”

Baz snatched his hand away inhumanly fast and grabbed the backs of Simon's knees, lifting the boy up like a feather. Simon gasped in surprise, his wings fluttering open and folding around them both, his tail coiling around Baz's thigh and his arms hugging Baz's shoulders for balance. Their foreheads bumped together softly, and their breaths mingled; a familiar mix of hot and cold.

“Couldn't agree more,” Baz smirked and went back to devouring Simon's red lips again, starting to navigate through the kitchen. Simon drew his hands away from Baz's shoulders and moved them along the back of his neck, burying his fingers into Baz's soft, black locks, tugging at them demandingly. Arriving at the threshold of Simon's room, Baz kicked the slightly ajar door in and walked over to the bed.

His knees hit the soft mattress, and slowly Baz lowered Simon to lie on the bed, conscious of his wings, not intending to crush them harshly but instead softening the fall as best he could in his rather heady state, his other arm curled behind Simon's back now. Baz eased himself to lie on top of Simon, his other hand resting on the boy's thigh, his mouth mere inches above Simon's as he gazed into those heated eyes that Baz knew matched his own, his heart thrumming in his chest.

Then something peculiar flashed in Simon's expressive, blue eyes, and Baz had barely time to register the sudden grasp around his biceps as Simon lunged upwards and rolled them both over, using his wings to push himself up from the bed. The surprise knocked Baz out of breath, and his eyes were wide as he stared at his flushed boyfriend hovering over him now, his pupils dilated, his wings wide open behind him, his body pressing Baz down onto the bed.

“Simon,” Baz breathed, still taken aback, but Simon wasn't going to go easy on him now that he had claimed control. Smirking wickedly, Simon gave Baz's lips a bruising kiss as his hands slipped to Baz's waist, lifting his shirt up to his chest and tugging it until Baz got the hint and rose up from the bed so that Simon could strip it off, throwing the shirt behind them to the floor.

Now that he had risen up, Baz used his opportunity to get rid of Simon's shirt as well. With Baz's assistance, Simon snaked first one arm out of one sleeve, then the other, and lastly Baz drew the shirt over Simon's head, ruffling those soft, bronze curls into a mess in the process. Drawing in a shaky breath, Baz simply couldn't resist raking his fingers through Simon's hair, leaning in close and inhaling the familiar scent as Simon folded his wings behind himself so that Baz could slip the shirt over them and finally free Simon of his shirt.

(Dressing (or undressing) wasn't the easiest chore for a boy with wings but without magic, but luckily for Simon, he had two mages at his proposal more often than not. Baz and Penny had spelled all Simon's shirts and trousers and jackets so that they would adapt to let his wings and tail pass through the fabric.)

Once Simon's shirt hit the floor, the boy pushed Baz back against the bed and leaned over, latching his lips on Baz's neck as his hands travelled down his body.

Simon's neck kisses were to die for. Baz hated the noises he made when Simon sucked the skin over his Adam's apple between his lips and grazed his teeth over it, the raw pain of it sending waves of pleasure through his body and straight to his groin.

Slowly Simon moved his lips lower; dipping his tongue to the hollow of Baz's throat, licking and nipping at his collarbones, circling his tongue around his nipples, making Baz's whole body shudder. Baz's thoughts were so clouded and distracted that he only vaguely registered Simon's fingers fumbling at the front of his trousers, unbuttoning and unzipping, until suddenly Simon was palming him through his boxers, making Baz moan out loud.

“Fuck, Snow,” Baz hissed as Simon kissed along his stomach, his hands now tugging at his trousers. Baz raised his hips compliantly, and Simon swiftly drew both Baz's trousers and boxers down his legs, and as Simon kneeled over him, Baz quickly kicked the offensive pieces of clothing off from around his ankles.

Simon locked his heavy-lidded eyes with Baz's as he lowered his lips on Baz's hip bone. The eye contact was almost too much for Baz, and as Simon placed his hand on Baz's thigh and started inching his fingers towards his inner thigh, the tips of his fingers brushing his balls, Baz couldn't help his eyes closing tightly shut as he threw his head back against the pillow and growled, lost to the sensations.

Baz could feel Simon's lips pulling into a smile against his skin as the boy planted wet kisses around his hips and next to his throbbing cock, teasing him till it nearly drove him crazy. Baz squirmed on the bed, his fists balling around the sheets, his chest heaving in anticipation.

Then, without a warning (as bloody usual), Simon licked his tongue along the length of Baz's cock, flicking the tip of his tongue over the crown, eliciting the loudest curse by far from Baz's numb lips.

Simon chuckled with a low voice, blowing hot air on Baz's skin before taking him in his mouth, his head bobbing up and down at a steady pace. Soon the boy could feel Baz trembling and buckling his hips upward, and then Baz groaned with a slightly choked voice, “Simon, slow the fuck down if you know what's good for you!”

So Simon pulled back, grinning at Baz, his cheeks flushed, curls falling against his forehead. Baz rose up to lean on his elbows, his muscles quivering, and Simon crawled forward, bringing his hand to Baz's cheek and sweeping it into his hair in a caressing motion.

“Oh, so greedy, aren't we, Basil?” Simon asked, and _fuck_ , Baz could swear even his voice was like a tease on his skin.

Baz just growled in response, drawing Simon closer by the arm and pulling him in for a messy kiss as his hands attacked Simon's jeans, tugging them down his thighs in no time and closing his hand around Simon's hard member, making the other boy moan against Baz's lips.

After a few pumps, Baz slipped his hand away but brushed the tips of his fingers along Simon's lower belly, making the boy tremble. Turning his chin, Baz grazed his lips along Simon's cheek, kissing the moles there. As he reached Simon's ear, he whispered, low in his throat, “I'm yours, Simon,” his lips sweeping his earlobe, “take me.”

Simon froze against Baz. Pulling back slowly, Baz met Simon's eyes. The other boy stared at him, stunned, his mouth hanging slightly open, and Crowley, he was impossible. Simon must have found the confirmation he needed from Baz's eyes since the boy's dilated pupils blackened even further and he surged forward, kissing Baz hungrily and pushing him down to lie on the bed again.

Leaving Baz breathless, Simon retreated and reached over him, fumbling for something on the bedside table.

Having found what he was looking for, Simon leaned back and kneeled before Baz, holding a familiar tube in his hand. Gently, Simon nudged Baz's legs apart and placed his hot hands on Baz's knees, pulling them up so that his legs were fully spread before him.

Baz watched as Simon shook the tube before opening it and spurting a portion of lube on his palm, spreading it on his fingers and then discarding the tube.

Simon's gaze was ever so gentle as he placed his other hand on the back of Baz's thigh, splaying his fingers on it as he slowly brought his other hand close to Baz's entrance. Baz drew in a trembling breath, and then Simon's finger was _there_ , slowly pushing inside him, making Baz gasp at the contact. 

Baz's muscles spasmed and tensed around Simon's finger as Simon started moving it gently up and down, all the while observing Baz's reactions so as not to procede too quickly. After a moment, Baz could finally breathe more easily and the shock of the intrusion passed, the prickling friction starting to dissolve, and evolve into a pleasure, instead.

Simon could feel Baz relaxing and adjusting, and soon he added a second finger, pushing them both to the hilt and flexing them, opening Baz up further. The pumping of Simon's fingers inside him was slowly driving Baz mad, because it felt _so good_ , but it wasn't _enough_. It could never be enough.

Folding his legs further with his hands placed on the backs of his knees, his head resting on the pillow, Baz grunted, “ _Fuck_ me, Snow. _Now_.”

Simon didn't need to be told twice. Pulling his fingers back with an audible squelch, Simon reached for the lube again and spread a dose of it over his cock. Then, placing a kiss on Baz's knee, he positioned himself behind Baz and grabbed his hips just before he pushed himself inside Baz, filling him up just the way Baz had craved. Neither of the boys could hold back their exclamations at the sensations that overtook their bodies.

“Fuck, Baz, you're so _tight_ -”

Simon's chest was heaving and his eyes were squeezed shut as he adjusted inside Baz, and Baz was no better off himself. Ever so slowly, digging his fingers to Baz's hips, Simon pulled back and then buried himself in Baz again, starting to build up the pace.

They had done this plenty of times by now, but the thought and _the feeling_ of Simon Snow inside him would never cease to make Baz feel tempted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't having one his dreams again.

Simon Snow, hovering over him, a few separate curls sticking to his forehead with sweat, his chest flushed pink.

Simon Snow, letting out little noises and _whimpers_ , which aroused and moved Baz to no end, occassionally biting his lip and then releasing it again, hot air puffing out.

Simon Snow, slamming his slender hips into Baz's, making him feel things he had never felt before.

Baz could tell Simon was getting close. His pace was getting more and more frantic and less controlled, and as he adjusted his hips a little, pushing in deep, suddenly he hit a spot that made Baz howl and his back arch, the back of his head pressing to the pillow.

“ _Oh fuck, shit!_ ”

Then Simon tensed, and right after a shuddering wave washed through him that sent him pulsing inside Baz and repeating his name, again and again and again.

Baz had been teetering on the edge himself, and it took only a couple of swift, rough pulls of his own fist on his cock that sent his mind swirling, his vision whitening and blurring at the edges as the tickling, flickering flames of pleasure licked through him. 

Looking up from between his heavy eyelids, Baz was convinced for a moment that Simon had evolved into a bloody angel; his head and shoulders were bowed forward in surrender, and his red wings, which changed colour in Baz's eyes into bronze to match his curls, spread out behind him and slowly slumped forward to rest on his sides.

Then he blinked, and it was only Simon in front of him again; _his_ Simon, his out-of-ordinary, winged and tailed Simon, his boyfriend, _only his_.

After catching his breath, Simon pulled out, loosening his death-grip on Baz's hips and placing his hands against the mattress, his arms shaking, still leaning forward. Something tugged at Baz's heart, and he swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

For reasons unknown, after they had sex, Simon often turned into this shy, blushing sap and it never failed to make Baz more or less weak.

Baz rose up to lean against one forearm, reaching his other hand out and sweeping his slightly shaking fingers over Simon's sweaty forehead, combing his curls in the process.

Simon raised his chin and met Baz's eyes, and _Crowley_ , he was beautiful. Baz caressed Simon's cheek with the tips of his fingers and couldn't suppress the smile spreading over his lips, the kind that made Simon's eyes warmen up and coaxed a smile out of his own, red lips.

“C'mere, love,” Baz murmured softly, the faintest tint of pink colouring his cheeks, his brain an utter mush inside his skull.

The smile on Simon's lips widened, and he crawled over, dragging a sheet with him and spreading it over their legs. Then, settling down, Simon rested his head on Baz's chest and lowered his wings to cover them both.

Simon turned his head slightly and kissed Baz on his chest, letting out a trembling, contented sigh.

Under Simon's wing, Baz's fingers found Simon's and entwined them together.

Baz nuzzled his nose in Simon's curls and inhaled deeply, his eyes falling shut, his limbs weighing him down on the bed, his thoughts scattering.

As his mind started drifting off to sleep, one last thought swirled through his head, bright and warm.

_I love you, Simon._

*.*.*

“I love you, too, Baz.”

**Author's Note:**

> Credit of the dee-ee-licious spell (and the inspiration for that scene) goes to this post: http://dreamtruee.tumblr.com/post/132052178819/okay-a-snowbaz-scenario-keeps-popping-up-in-my
> 
> Also, the title credit goes to Christina Perri and her beautiful song called "Arms".


End file.
